


Better Together

by Angenou



Series: Better Together [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, I am so sorry, It got so fluffy, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, dumb boys in denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-07-25 15:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7537885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angenou/pseuds/Angenou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Donut catches Grif and Simmons together they are confronted with feelings they didn't anticipate. What started out as convenient stress relief turns into something much more, but not without a heavy dose of denial first. Simmons has trouble accepting what he feels, and Grif struggles to help him through it. This is the sequel to Most Definitely NOT a Team Bonding Activity, reading that is not necessary to enjoy this, but it will definitely help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The real beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have this work pre-written the way I did with the last fic, but I do have the ending in mind already with tentative plans on how to get there. I will be trying to get updates posted as soon as possible, but comments letting me know what you guys like and don't like will help things along. I have plans for how I want this to go, but if things go a different way because y'all would enjoy something slightly different, we can go with that, just let me now. I'm open to suggestions.
> 
> That said, please enjoy!

Two pairs of bare arms hefted Donut out into the hallway on his ass in perfect sync before the heavy storage room door slammed shut behind him. It was rude really, if they’d just given him another minute he could have walked out, himself. Love can be impatient though, they’d get a pass on their poor manners this time, Donut mused, as he made his way in a daze out to where he’d find Sarge.

~*~*~

After throwing Donut bodily from the room in unison Grif moved to swing the door shut by its edge as Simmons leaned against the back of it and began to sink down its surface until they were both sure it was lodged firmly closed. They breathed sighs of relief together, and Grif snickered at it.

“We might not have meant to improve our teamwork, but I’d say we got pretty good at it anyway.”

Simmons felt he should startle at the words, but it was a fair point. He nods his head the slightest bit with his eyelids still folded over tension-tight eyes. It was an odd feeling to have been so perfectly in sync with Grif after all the disagreements they consistently had, but he had noticed without Grif or Donut having to say a word about it. Before he could lose himself much further in his thoughts, Simmons heard Grif’s back meet the wall next to him and he knew that Grif was letting himself slide down the wall to sit beside where he was parked on the ground.

Grif’s gaze made it’s way back to Simmons after he got settled on the floor next to him, and a sleazy grin took hold as he began again. “I was afraid for a minute there that we’d lose out on the mood, but I’m still at half chub here. This might not be a wasted opportunity after all.”

Simmons snorted. “You’re a total chub all the time, I don’t know what you’re talking about fatass. Half-chub…” his speech petered out abruptly and cleared his throat aloud. The weight and heat of Grif’s gaze was burning into his skin like a brand, and he was back to being fully aroused before he’d even had time to process his blood migrating away from his higher brain. “Shit.” Simmons didn’t think at all before letting his legs fall open, and with Grif sitting so close his leg found a resting place against Grif’s own thigh.

Grif was breathless and half-crazy with lust. He wanted to touch, everything. He took hold of his own cock before he could do anything new though. He didn’t want to waste the moment, and yeah, they’d both stood together to defend this as a private moment between them, but would Simmons really accept his touch right now? Simmons was stroking himself to a quick and efficient looking completion, but Grif had hardly begun. Grif was getting swept away inside his own head again, and he was going to ruin this and make it weird, and not even the fun kind of weird. Simmons was initiating physical contact with him, barely, and he was overthinking it instead of getting to his own orgasm, and the stark silence that had fallen in place of the absence of his own slutty moans was growing oppressive. Simmons was losing it as he noticed the silence, his pace slowed, and his shoulders drew up in a tense line at his neck the longer it went on.

Shit.

They had unanimously agreed that this was a private moment, but now they were both making this private moment awkward. It was one thing to enjoy the heat of the moment a few times together, but another to have spoken about it and not said anything meaningful about it all at once, then to try to go back to not speaking. Emotional whiplash is what they’re feeling, and who neither wants to be the sucker to speak up and break the quickly forming ice between them? The heat shared between them where their legs met was cooling but their sexual frustration and general arousal were not fading with the avalanche of emotionally constipated tension in the air.

Simmons’ nipples had shrunk to hard points and Grif’s hand decided for him that enough was enough. He reached out and rolled the nipple nearest him between two fingers, and they both moaned when this turned out to be a very positive life choice. The little bit of pain and pleasure lanced through Simmons like a bolt of lightning, and his own audible reaction to it was like a match to a pile of dried out tumbleweeds, the entire thing went up in a puff and a flame and want. Simmons arched his back, pushing his chest out towards where Grif was fondling him and Grif found himself turning and leaning towards Simmons in direct reaction to the movement. The position was awkward but the shoulder closest to Simmons leaned against him, and Grif went for the action he’d been fantasizing about since the last time they’d been alone together. Grif turned his head and nibbled on Simmons’ earlobe. Simmons moaned wantonly, and tilts his head to rest against Grif’s.

They’re nuzzling their faces against each other, and stripping their cocks with abandon. Thoughts of boundaries being blatantly crossed are far away as their orgasms rush in on them. They reach that crest together, and come almost in unison. Really, this being in sync thing is getting ridiculous.

“Fuck.” Simmons breathes it so quietly that Grif almost misses it, even with his face resting against Simmons’ own face so closely he could feel his jaw move to form the sound. Grif nodded, but otherwise made no attempt to move. Simmons feels the temptation to shift his face to rest so that he’s looking directly into Grif’s eyes so strongly he has to physically restrain himself, he resists and sighs instead. He means it to sound done, but it comes out softer and probably more satisfied than anything. At this, Grif turns his head so that he’s facing the same way Simmons is, but drops his head to rest on Simmons’ shoulder and it squishes his cheek so that if he tries to talk, it’ll sound muffled and cuter than a grown man has any right to sound.

The warmth in their chests is stifling. They didn’t ask for any of this, but they have been thrown together since basic, and have never looked back. They just continually go forward, and at this point forward means being next to the other like that’s just how the universe works. Most military friendships and teammate situations probably didn’t come attached with whatever the warmth in their chests was, at no extra charge. Or with the extra charge, even. When they enlisted or got drafted, respectively, this is not what they were signing in for. They sigh sad sounds at the very same moment, and if they weren’t so melancholy they’d probably laugh about the frankly cartoonish unison they’ve had going on today, and the fact that it won’t stop. In fact, they both have the realization that they’ll probably continue being weirdly in sync even after they leave this room, and the warmth under their ribs gets a bit more stifling.

Stupid canyon and its constant, unseasonable hot weather, it’s contagious, it must be. It’s just got to be.

The way they both move to get up, clean themselves off, and get dressed again, all in synchronization that swimmers would be jealous of, it all just makes the tight warmth in their chests feel all the more prohibitive and daunting. It’s just the weather though, right?

Right. They nod it at each other though not a word has actually been said since before they touched their cocks the second time around. Grif is so caught up in his own thoughts that he doesn’t go to complain a single time as they take inventory. As they leave the storage room they both hesitate and neither knows consciously quite why, but Grif nods his head in the direction of a tree that is usually a comfortable place to nap around this time of day, and Simmons just gives him this dumb little grin before he can think to scold Grif for making the lazy choice again. They both walk away from each other and the warmth turns hollow and they can’t quite figure out how or why they suddenly feel so empty.


	2. Baby Steps, Or Something Like Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few slices of life after the incident with their first real taste of intimacy. Not a lot changes, but if it gets Simmons thinking about why it doesn't have to really, then maybe it's progress anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry about how long this has taken to post! This chapter has given me a lot of trouble, so I've gone and broken it up into smaller pieces. It may seem like things are meandering here, but I promise it's going places. My chapters will be coming more frequently, but they may be smaller than I'd like. Keeping it bite sized makes it less scary for me though, so I hope you stick with me for it! <3

Sarge had called them for the weekly team meeting to talk about tactics and a reorganization of roles in battle. Grif could not be counted on to remember the extra ammunition, so the idea of having someone else take that role was up for debate.

Unsurprisingly, Grif opted to nap instead of weighing in on it.

Grif had fallen asleep in his armor, and in this state, slid over to leaning on Simmons’ shoulder. It wasn’t the first time Simmons had played pillow for Grif, and everyone knew it would not be the last. The gentle, fond smiles Donut was giving them however, made Simmons’ cheeks burn. With shame roiling in his gut, he ever so gently shoved Grif’s fat ass off of him, and he went on to land in the dust and wake with a start. Grif’s incoherent grunts belied a disgruntled and unhappy sentiment visible in both Grif and Simmons.

Grif slugged Simmons in the shoulder and crossed his arms over chest before obstinately setting himself to try to fall back asleep without so much as a word. Simmons distress totally ignored, Grif succeeded in falling back asleep, and promptly leaning back over onto Simmons again. This time, Simmons flipped Donut off and proceeded to ignore him in favor of overzealously taking notes on Sarge’s lecture. Only a few minutes passed before Grif interrupted Sarge's stream of speech with a heavy, abrupt snore.

Sarge bristled, “Simmons, see to it that you cut Grif's throat tonight.”

“With pleasure, Sir!” came Simmons’ response, as well as a quick coming to attention to salute. This motion swept Simmons’ shoulder out from where it had been supporting Grif, leaving him to crash, once again, to the ground.

Grif remained on the ground this time, and bitched at Simmons about assassination plots being cowardly if the man was asleep, something about a man's sleep being sacred. He was summarily ignored, but that night, Simmons didn't rise from his bunk even once until breakfast the next morning.

~*~

Grif met Simmons on the roof of the base when he went to take his turn standing sentinel. A groggy nod and grunt were his only greeting. At this hour, Simmons didn't bother taking offense, nor did he try to fill the peace and quiet of the sleepy morning with chatter.

Grif didn't doze really, but he shared a very sedate and comfortable silence with Simmons as the sun grew warmer where they stood looking out across the gulch.

A couple of hours later Donut found his way up to where they stood guard atop the base, and he struck like an electrical storm, all cacophonous noise and garish color. He swept up their companionable silence and insinuated himself into the short, few feet between Grif and Simmons, nattering on excitedly about the fantastic conversation he apparently just had with Sarge about their childhood pets, and their preferences with regards to cloth textures in a blanket.

Without speaking a word about it, Grif and Simmons shared a look over Donut’s shoulders before Grif piped up by asking Simmons, with a rather obviously false brightness, which Robin he thought was the best, comics and animated series' alike were fair game. Donut’s cheery tirade abruptly came to an end when Simmons responded with a very powerfully indignant screech. He ought to care that he was so easily played into being the loud one, but he had to school Grif on this topic first, then he’d tear the jerk a new helmet vent about how rude the whole thing was. Then probably thank him and go back to their silence, unless the idiot had come up with another misguided idea about comics that needed correcting. He might have been hoping for another misguided idea in need of correction, and he might have been in luck.

~*~

One evening found Grif and Simmons bickering in the canteen so intensely over dinner that they almost missed Caboose barging through the place muttering emphatically about finding differing baked goods. Grif shook his head at Simmons and attempted to just go back to their previous debate on the merits and demerits of being present to witness a face-off between Iron Man and a scientifically engineered dinosaur.

“Hey, Caboose, what the hell are you doing in the red base? Are you lost or something?” Simmons shouted in the direction Caboose was trying to vanish towards. Hearing his name did seem to get his attention, but not long enough to be deemed worthy of answering to. Grif shrugged, and reached across the table to try to snag some of Simmons’ food for himself while the maroon was distracted.

Simmons redirected his attention back to Grif just in time to smack at his hand before he could be successful in his petty thievery. Grif merely raised an eyebrow, before gearing himself up to respond to the way Simmons was turned around and half standing from his chair already.

“I swear to you, if you get up to chase that idiot down and drag him out of the base before he can find Donut you won’t have a meal to come back to. Even after eating my entire meal you and I both know I can take yours down too.” Grif paused his threatening for a moment to allow his face to become stern before continuing. “And if you recall, you didn’t finish your last two meals either. This morning you went off to get something for Sarge, and Donut, the bastard, threw away what was left on your plate. At lunch you just let it go cold in favor of bashing your head into the table. By the time you remembered it you were too grossed out by it to try eating any of it. Do you really want to herd gigantic, stupid cats, or do you want to finish one fuckin’ meal today? Who knows how many meals you finished eating yesterday. Ugh! It’s awful, don’t make me consider how horrifying the idea of how little you’ve eaten this week is. Please.”

Simmons, while listening to Grif make a weird amount of sense, re-seated himself at the table in front of his meal and listened halfheartedly while propping his chin up with one of his hands and fidgeting with his fork with the other. At “Please.” he speared a piece of food and began to systematically finish his food without a word. Hearing Grif lecture him about not eating enough was unsettling all on its own, but realizing that Grif was keeping track of his eating habits consistently And becoming worried when they didn’t meet his standards of health, well, he’d allay his fears silently, but he couldn't make him talk about it.

Grif seemed perfectly content to let the conversation pass into silence and the small noises of eating coming from across the table. He shut his eyes and leaned back in his chair and seemed just to melt into it. The longer this went on, the longer he listened to Simmons silently eat, the more Grif seemed just to relax and almost seemed to drift off, were it not for the fact he was clearly trying to keep listening to make sure Simmons cleared his plate. It was disconcerting moments like this where Simmons remembered that Grif was an elder sibling, and that he’d been left in charge of his younger sister when their mom left. He wasn’t really sure how or why he knew about that upsetting bit of Grif’s history, but he did, and it was all too easy to forget, until he started trying to take care of the people around him again. Until Simmons noticed that his laziness was practiced distance, and entirely intentional coping mechanisms that kept him from thinking too long or hard about the fact that he did have to leave her behind. Grif and the one-man-draft he was swept out here on were so foreign to Simmons that he had to just shake his head and actually finish chewing this bite before the rest got cold again. It was hard enough to swallow fresh, he wasn’t about to take it on cold if he didn’t have to, that's all.


	3. From Grif's Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grif's take on the last three scenes, and the start of another new scene.

Grif feels like he should have seen it coming that Sarge would call for a team meeting the very next day. Ever since he got caught up in the draft and shipped out to space instead of taking care of his sister like he’d planned on, nothing had ever quite gone his way, and he should have expected needing space after the incident yesterday to be the same. He really should never expect to get a break, but he never was good at giving up when he really wanted something. And above all else, he really wanted some time and space to himself. Not to think about anything, there wasn’t anything to think over of course, but shit was gonna be weird right away, and avoiding weird shit would always be Grif’s modus operandi.

He gets his armor on and gets out into the canteen and gets something to eat before Simmons can even wake up for once. This does not come without its price in time though, Grif makes up for it by spending three times the usual amount in preparing his meal, actually cooking something. If he can’t sleep in and smoke and avoid the world, he will at least comfort himself properly with food. It’s only fair, the only fair he’s gonna get too.

Despite his waffling and time squandering, Grif is barely even late for the meeting. He’ll bite and swallow his own tongue before admitting to being on time to it, or, dare it be said, a little early. Once Simmons is there, acting uptight and ready to please Sarge, Grif feels a surge of something tight in his chest and it feels ugly and makes his jaw feel tight where it meets his throat. He’s not jealous, but whatever this feeling is, it reminds him of the way he sometimes felt when his sister talked about their mother with hero-worship instead of bitterness and rejection. This shit is too much to stay awake for, so he crosses his arms over his chest and sets about trying to drift off to sleep. If he forgot to stand with his legs shoulder width apart first and ends up swaying on his feet until he comes to a rest against Simmons’ shoulder, it’s definitely not his fault, and absolutely not what he had planned on. At all. Especially when the bastard steps away and he drops to the ground like so many cement blocks into water.

Disgruntled and mortified, the only reaction that rises to the surface is to slug Simmons and deliberately invade his space this time. The jerk hates confrontation, so he’ll probably just take it, and Grif can just go back to sleep.

Simmons does indeed just take it, for a while. Back to sleep Grif does indeed go, and back down to the ground he drops again. This time he stays there, and when he hears Simmons suck up to Sarge when the old coot tells him to harm Grif in his sleep, he calls him out on it in loud mumbles, and tries to tune it all out and drift off again. A man’s sleep should be sacred. Heathens.

~*~

Sure enough, no throat slitting happened in anyone’s sleep, or after it for that matter. Crazy old coot. It’s his and Simmons’ turn to stand sentinel on top of the base, so Grif, as sedately as possible, makes his morning preparations and finds his way up into the balmy morning air. Luckily, Simmons seems to be in one of his more agreeable moods, and doesn’t try to engage him in conversation. Which is perfect, because Grif was having mild anxiety about him trying to talk about how they both agreed they were having a private moment before throwing Donut out on his ass. It didn’t _bother_ him, per se, but it didn’t sit right with him either.

They don’t have anything between them. Simmons just doesn’t know how to relax, and Grif does the whole team a favor and guides him through a very effective method of chilling the fuck out. That’s all really, and the less they talk about it, the easier it’ll be to keep the status quo. Simmons can be relied upon to be too repressed to think about it or probably even to think about it. It could easily be misinterpreted, especially by the likes of Donut.

Donut would also probably not understand the actual value of silences like the truly stellar one going on right now.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Or, as the case may be, think of him, and he will appear. Fuck. The kid barges in and suddenly the entire space is charged to his energy, and it is too much and too fast this early in such a sedate day. This can not be allowed to stand. Grif takes a peek at Simmons behind Donut’s head, and is un-surprised, but disappointed when he recognizes no potential motion from him. Fine, he can fix this himself. Better yet, he can trick Simmons into fixing it. Heh, that sounds much better.

“Hey, comic and animated universes both allowed, which do you think is the best Robin?”

That ought to get him going. He takes a moment to enjoy seeing Simmons take a deep breath, yep, he’s gearing up to teach him what is wrong with his question. Compare apples and oranges, and receive fruit salad every time. It’s a consistent recipe for success. A wiser man would take this chance to examine how and why he knows the man next to him well enough to push his buttons so easily, but those wiser men also probably can’t appreciate quiet moments as well as Grif can either. Even with Simmons voice growing exasperate and high pitched in turn, the moment goes quiet as soon as Donut takes the hint that he’s about to be ignored and makes his exit.

~*~

When Caboose made his way through their base muttering to himself, it was clear he was looking for Donut. Grif was curious, until he noticed Simmons making to rise from yet another meal without eating it, and promptly lost interest in whatever those idiots were doing. Uptight nerd won’t even feed himself right. It’s been at least a week since the incident, and he’s distracted constantly, even near mealtimes. It was awful.

Grif has resisted saying anything thus far, but he can only be pushed so much before he’s fit to burst with it. So he tears into Simmons, and is pleased to see that his only reaction is to sit back down firmly and take up his fork again.

Satisfaction settles into his bones and his rib cage is warm with it, so he leans back in his chair and rests his arms up behind his head to bask in the warmth simmering in his blood right now. He’d had no idea it was irking him so much to see Simmons neglect himself so often with such basic self-care, but now that it was seen to, he let out a bigger breath than he could have fathomed he was holding in.

~*~

After another week of Grif shoving Simmons back into his seat in the canteen and bitching at him to “fucking eat something,” their constant sniping at each other over every tiny thing was rising to a crescendo and Sarge was Fed Up™ with the entire thing. Another team meeting was called in the face of another supply drop for both the reds and blues. Sarge didn’t want to face facts and admit aloud that he knew and didn’t disapprove of whatever it was that Grif and Simmons did behind closed doors. He did however, have a great need for peace and quiet to make repairs to the Warthog. The temptation to order them off on their own was a siren’s call to him that he would die before admitting to. He was a strong man, he could keep his hand close to his chest regardless of what it cost him. Alternatively, he knew Grif was smart enough to catch a hint, which he would also rather die than admit to having thought.

“Men, we have a real problem on our hands. From what I saw, we got some new weapons and new tech in this supply drop, which means it’s highly probable that those dirty blues did too. I need at least one volunteer to go check this out. I also need to get into our new weapons stash and see what plans we can make with them. Who is going to help with what? You get one chance here so hop on it or you’ll get ordered into something whether you want to do it or not.” Sarge left his ultimatum hanging in the air, and kept eye contact with Grif, hoping he’d take one for the team and fix the stupid squabbling before it got any worse.

Simmons was standing ramrod straight, not even a flinch to give away that he might want to move one way or another. The way he stood stock still was unnerving, as was his silence. Normally Simmons was the first to volunteer for things under any circumstances. It was obvious that his last memory of being in the supply room taking inventory was heavy on his mind. Donut was silently chuckling to himself about it, Sarge grew increasingly frustrated the longer the silence drug on, and Grif was forced to pay attention and make a choice.

Simmons would not make this choice, so he would have to if anyone was going to. Ugh. This was awful.

Grif grabbed Simmons’ wrist and started dragging him off. “Sort it out between you and Donut.”

The fact that Simmons was in shock probably helped Grif tow him where he wanted. Simmons hadn’t time to react to being foisted off somewhere, nor had he had time to mentally react to Grif’s declaration that neither he nor Simmons would volunteer for either task. He was still reeling when they’d made their way back into the base and down the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffhanger! It just felt better to cut this scene in two like this to split between chapters. The next chapter shouldn't take me too much longer to finish, edit, and post. I hope you're enjoying it! I think the next chapter will probably be the last one.


	4. It's awful but it's ours.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conversation they wanted to avoid happens, and it's clumsy and vague, but they understand each other, and that's really all that matters in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the final installment, and it's not quite what some of you may be expecting, but it felt right to me. This is the last of my story for them, at least for how they find their way to be together. I really hope y'all enjoy it anyway! Thank you so much for reading. <3

Grif finally comes to an abrupt stop, and Simmons, who has been trailing just behind him, crashes into his back. He can’t take Simmons back to the inventory room, because odds are Sarge has already decided that he’s got to get the new weapons and tech items from the supply drop himself. Their bunks are probably the best option right now, but that means taking this habit of theirs outside the realm of “comfortable coincidence we use to stay sane” and right into something else entirely. Should he probably consider what this means for them before acting further? Yes. Will he? That’s the much better question.

Wait, can he just talk Simmons into snapping out of it? Why should they necessarily jump to the conclusion that action is needed? Why jump to the conclusion that orgasms are necessary? And why should they achieve those orgasms together? What are they to each other, even? Why do this together at all? Why did he drag Simmons off with him? He should have just left for a nap all on his own like he used to.

“You didn't think this out at all, did you, Numbnuts?” 

Simmons sounding an impressive mix of incredulous and resigned is what shakes Grif out of this quickly spiraling anxiety. 

“Fuck off! At least I'm trying. You need to get out of your head as bad as I do.” Grif’s response is spit out before he falters and rambles onwards without his own permission, “Shit’s still weird though and we've been avoiding talking about it so well. It seems like a shame to let all that effort go to hell now. I mean, this is one of the few things around here I've put real energy into.” You can almost see Grif bite his tongue as he hears himself speak the words aloud, and realization dawns almost instantly that it sounds not at all the way he meant it to. “Avoiding this conversation I mean. Not… never mind.”

As awkwardly as Grif stopped speaking, he still found a way to begin moving again, by grabbing for Simmons’ wrist and dragging him along in the direction of their bunks. Once they cross the threshold into the space, habit compels Grif to toss his helmet off and begin removing his armor, almost autonomously. It’s not until he dumps himself unceremoniously into his own bed that he remembers the situation. “That was habit, fuck. That’s not any better a thing to admit right now either. I’m going to attempt a nap unless you have something you want to contribute to this train wreck.”

It really was like watching a train wreck. He wanted to be able to turn away, but couldn’t bring himself to. “I think the worst part of this all is, that we’re in here fucking up at having a conversation we both want to avoid, and no matter what actually happens here, Donut and Sarge both probably think we’re in here fucking.”

Cue mic drop.

The subsequent silence is pressing, and pregnant. 

“You are an asshole, and I hate that you’re not wrong.”

“I’m technically right, and that’s the best kind of right, so suck it.” Wrong words. Wrong term. Take it back. Correct it. Take it back. Shit. Take it back. Say something, idiot! “Fuck.” The expletive comes out more like resignation than anything, and either of them could have said it for the way they both feel it resonate in their bones.

“Honestly, I’m already laying down. I’m not moving unless I’m given some serious motivation to do so. Your move.”

Simmons finally begins removing his armor at this. He takes off and put away each piece carefully, just the way he’d normally do at the end of each day. With each patch of bare skin exposed Grif could feel his cheeks warm and his breath come in shorter and shorter before catching in his throat when Simmons was down to his skivvies. The heat in his skin feels imposing and with the added pressure of their unfinished conversation, his limbs only register as heavy and foreign. It had been a joke, but he’s into it. He is here for this, and he hadn’t meant to say a goddamned word about how here for it he is, but it looks like his intent escaped him. Simmons made a strong point, one it was hard to find fault with, especially now as panic turns Grif’s blood to unnaturally hot plasma, like the stars are made of.

Oh how quickly reality turns Grif soft and vulnerable. Outside of the storage closet they normally meet in, tucked into a silence that punctuates a very important conversation they’re not really avoiding anymore, Grif could be tied to his bed posts for all that he is capable of getting up and walking away right now. Simmons sets down the last of his armor, and with a bare chest and loosely covered bottom sits down next to Grif’s legs before leaning forward and putting his head into his hands.

His words come out muffled, but in the oppressive silence Grif has no trouble understanding him. “Scoot over, if you’re taking a nap, I am too.”

Grif scoots over and makes room for him before he can even consider the implications of it. He is given no time to regret or panic either before Simmons is laying on his side so close they’re touching in a few places. He wants to roll over and slip his arm over Simmons’ hip and rest his hand in the curls nestled above his waistband. What Donut and Sarge think is irrevocable at this point, but what about what Simmons thinks? He’s apparently fine with some level of intimacy if he’s napping in the same bed, instead of taking a few steps to sleep on his own bed. Grif feels something inside himself crack, and he’s wending his arm through Simmons’ and his hand rests on Simmons’ chest for just a moment before he uses the angle to pull him in closer to his own bare chest. Simmons leans his head back until he feels Grif’s forehead resting against him. Grif’s breath comes out soft and soothingly over the back of his neck, and Simmons fits his fingers in between Grif’s and holds on tight. Holding one another their hearts start to slow, and the tension starts to ease with each gentle breath they take together. 

Simmons’ voice comes out quietly, and just a little snarky. “We are really fucking awful at this.”

“Yeah,” comes Grif’s reply, hushed and already almost sleep rough, “but whatever the fuck it is, it’s ours to be shitty at, together.”

Simmons’ grip on Grif’s hand gets just a little tighter. “Yeah, yeah it is.”

A short while later, as he’s almost drifted off, Simmons is almost positive he feels a feather light kiss on the nape of his neck and he falls asleep with the most relaxed smile he’s worn in longer than he has memories for.


End file.
